Pearls

by Mills, Lisa

  Manuel listened for the sound of her lock then began to put his plan into action. He would have liked to crawl into bed, as well. Despite hours of inactivity while they traveled, his body felt more fatigued than if he’d labored all day. But he could rest later. For now, he had a mission to accomplish.

  Stopping by his room, he dug in his bag for the nicer outfit he’d brought along. Archaeology generally entailed long, hard hours in the field, sweating and working with dirt in one form or another. His wardrobe reflected his practical nature. He opted for functional, durable clothes without concern for fashion. But occasionally, situations arose that required more professional looking apparel. For this reason he always carried one nicer outfit.

  He pulled the black pants and shirt from his bag and winced. They were wrinkled and carried a faint odor from having been packed with dirty clothes. Gathering them up along with his supply of cash, he left in search of a laundromat. He found one a few doors down from the hotel and gave the proprietress something extra to have them ready in a few hours.

  His next errand forced him onto unfamiliar territory. Even growing up with three sisters had not prepared him for this mission, but if he wanted to make this night a success, he would have to brave it.

  As he passed through the open door of a shop with a promising window display, his shoulder brushed against a set of wind chimes, drawing unwanted attention to his arrival. Two saleswomen exchanged knowing glances, and the older lady stepped forward, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Can I help you?” she asked in melodic Spanish.

  “I hope so, because I’m certain I won’t be of any help to myself.” He flashed her a smile and hoped a little charm would buy him extra assistance and cooperation. He needed a female accomplice if he intended to pull this off. “I want to buy an outfit—a dress for a woman.”

  “This woman, she is special, no?”

  He nodded with relief. The sparkle in her eye told him she was a matchmaker at heart. “Very. And I want our evening to be special, so the dress has to be just right.”

  “Did you have something particular in mind?”

  “A dress with a traditional flavor. Colorful, full skirts, a peasant blouse.”

  She turned and headed for the back of the store, waving at him to follow. “The tourists, they like these so we always keep some in stock. They are perfect to wear to a festival, sí?”

  She pulled one of the dresses from the rack and held it against her, grasping a handful of the flared skirt and lifting it to show him the fullness. It was feminine without being frilly, possessed a cultural flavor without overdoing it. And she was right—it looked perfect for a festival.

  “I’ll take it, or at least I’ll take one of them.” He stared at the rack perplexed. “I don’t know what size or color.” He realized he hadn’t done enough research before he set out on this little expedition.

  The saleswoman smiled and patted his arm, obviously accustomed to dealing with addled customers. “Maria!” she called.

  The other saleswoman appeared with a look of expectancy on her face.

  “Your señorita, she is like Maria, or smaller, or larger…?”

  Manuel grasped her plan and decided it could work. Maria looked flustered in her modeling role, evidenced by the blush creeping over her face. Truthfully, he was uncomfortable, too, so he tried to make his perusal brief. His gaze traveled over Maria’s frame, his mind making quick comparisons.

  “The women are nearly the same size, but Isabel is taller.” He held his hand up near his chin, indicating her height. “And she has beautiful blue eyes. Do you have a color that will set them off?”

  Maria slipped away while the saleswoman thumbed through the rack of dresses. “This one, I think.” She separated a dress from the others and held it out to him.

  A vibrant indigo. Manuel could imagine how the hues would play with Isabel’s rich coloring. “If that’s her size, I’ll take it.”

  The saleswoman carried it to the front counter and proceeded to wrap the purchase in tissue. He paid for the dress, handing over nearly half of his personal spending money on the gift and not regretting a penny. The deal with Raúl had provided Manuel with a modest salary in exchange for his expertise. He sent a portion of the income to his mother, buying a few months’ time before her financial struggles demanded he abandon his archaeological pursuits to salvage the family farm. The rest he pocketed for an emergency or occasional splurge.

  There was no one he would rather splurge on than Isabel.

  On his way back to the hotel, Manuel saw an old man peddling flowers on the corner and veered toward him. The vendor offered a nice selection of fresh-cut blooms, but the only one fitting for Isabel was the orchid. Beautiful, elegant—like her. Manuel laid the flower across the tissue-wrapped package and bounded to Isabel’s door, a giddy sensation in his chest adding spring to his step.

  He heard her humming as he knocked. When she opened the door, she wore a robe and a towel wrapped around her hair turban style, her face washed clean of makeup.

  “For you.”

  He pushed the gift toward her, and she instinctively reached out to accept it. “What’s this?”

  “I’ll pick you up at six o’clock.” He flashed her a smile and pulled the door shut, leaving her to figure out what to do with his surprise.

  Nineteen

  Manuel arrived exactly on time, looking better than any man had a right to. His black pants and shirt emphasized his dark complexion, and Isabel wondered if he realized how appealing he was.

  Funny how she had hardly noticed him when they first met, and now she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Maybe he had grown more attractive, or maybe her eyes had learned to see a deeper beauty. Manuel possessed that kind of attractiveness in abundance. Patient, gentle, respectful—he’d been the perfect companion during the last few weeks full of wonder and discovery.

  He smiled. “You’re staring at me.”

  “You’re staring at me too,” she pointed out.

  He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “I can’t help it. You’re beautiful.”

  She smoothed her hands across her outfit and flashed him a grateful glance. “Thank you for the dress. It was thoughtful of you.”

  He lifted a hand and twirled his finger in the air, giving her a silent command to turn and model for him. Blushing, she spun a slow circle, feeling the hem of the full skirt brushing against her calves.

  “The orchid looks nice behind your ear, but something isn’t right.”

  “Really? What?” She lifted a hand and touched the flower, making sure it was still in place.

  “Come here, let me.”

  She stepped closer and allowed him to turn her so her back was to him. She felt his fingers on her hair, tugging at the rubber band she’d used to fasten the end of her French braid.

  “You’re hair is pretty, Isabel. You should leave it down.” His breath fanned the back of her neck as he combed through the woven strands. The intimate touch set her scalp tingling, and she closed her eyes. His fingers climbed higher, loosening the braid up to her crown.

  When her hair fell free around her shoulders and neck, she turned to face him.

  He forked his fingers through her hair and arranged it around her face. “It’s so soft.”

  His velvety touch and voice left her dizzy. He hadn’t attempted to kiss her for days, and suddenly she wanted him to. His restraint tormented her. When she thought she couldn’t stand another moment of the anticipation building between them, he stepped backward, breaking the spell and leaving her unfulfilled. “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded, gaining a tentative control over her senses. “Very. And something smells delicious.”

  “I think that’s rosquitas, fried bread sprinkled with sugar and spices. I’ll buy you some for dessert.” He took her key and locked the door. “Let’s go see what’s happening in the plaza.”

  People filled the streets, talking, laughing, eating, and relaxing. Lively music,
aromatic food, and street performers vied for the attention of the crowd. Isabel felt the excitement in the atmosphere.

  Manuel’s fingers closed around Isabel’s hand, and he tugged her close to his side. “Let’s don’t get separated.”

  They navigated the crowded streets and entered the plaza. Musicians on the bandstand played a lively salsa tune, infusing the area with an irrepressible energy, which manifested itself in tapping toes and bouncing knees. The smells drifting from the food vendors enticed them to that area. They purchased hot sandwiches and drinks and drifted toward the crowded tables.

  “There’s an empty one.” Manuel led the way through the makeshift food court.

  Once seated, she inhaled the delicious aroma of her food and smiled at Manuel. “We haven’t eaten many meals like this one in the past few weeks.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Are you complaining about my cooking?”

  “I enjoy your cooking, but even you have to admit there’s a difference between fresh food and meals that come from a can.”

  “I’m just teasing. I’m sick of my own concoctions too. This is a nice treat before we return to the wilds.”

  Bowing her head, she offered up a silent prayer before taking a giant bite of the steaming sandwich. As they ate, the sun dropped low on the horizon, and the light dimmed to a romantic level. Workers circled the plaza lighting tiki torches, which added to the sultry mood.

  The musicians catered to the crowd, playing tunes that beckoned people to their feet. Soon the area in front of the bandstand filled with a laughing, smiling crowd.

  Isabel finished her sandwich and sat with her cheek propped on one hand, watching the kaleidoscope of color as the dancers moved in shifting patterns. The music and the steps reminded her of her mother, and she felt a pang of homesickness. Some of her best memories of her mother were related to Venezuelan music and dance.

  “Do you know any of the traditional dances?” he asked.

  She shrugged one shoulder. “When I was a kid, my mom would put a record on the stereo and dance in our living room. I always thought she was so graceful and beautiful. Over the years, she taught me a few steps, and we would dance together. I think dancing helped her not to feel so homesick.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  She nodded.

  “Maybe dancing is the cure for your homesickness too.” He rose and held out his hand.

  She leaned back in her chair, embarrassed. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Isabel. Dance with me.”

  She resisted when he tugged at her hand, refusing to move from her chair. “Manuel, it’s been years since I tried any of those steps, and even then I was an amateur.”

  He leaned close, planting a kiss in the hollow beneath her earlobe. “It’s like riding a bike. Once you get started, it all comes flooding back.”

  He had more determination than she did resistance, and after more urging, she allowed him to escort her into the swaying crowd. He turned to her and bowed, brushing a kiss across her fingers. Dropping her hand, he took a step backward and joined in the moves of the dance with surprising skill. Isabel stared because she couldn’t help herself. He was good—no, better than good. Excellent. Why hadn’t she noticed that agility and masculine grace before now?

  “It helps to move your feet!” he called above the music. Isabel felt a blush rising from the neckline of her blouse and realized she looked more foolish standing there gawking at him than she would dancing. Drawing in a deep breath, she tested her feet at a few of the simpler steps, trying to recall the vague memories. A pang of embarrassment accompanied each awkward movement. Maybe if he would look away. The intense glow in his eyes distracted her and increased her struggle.

  “Smile, this is fun,” he teased.

  She flicked a tortured gaze his way before returning her attention to her efforts. Harnessing her discomfort, she channeled her energy into her feet, willing them to remember. Soon rhythms long buried resurrected and infused her muscles with the fire of her Latina blood. Her feet fell in with the rhythm of the music, and her movements grew more confident. She gathered handfuls of the voluminous material of her skirt, and she stamped and twirled, swirling her skirts as she beat out the steps of the music.

  Manuel stepped closer, initiating play between them, flirting, chasing, and beckoning with each step of the lively dance. Rising to the challenge, Isabel focused on his smoldering dark eyes and matched her movements to his. Her pulse throbbed in her throat as she allowed him to lead her with nothing more than the intensity of his gaze. The dance built in fervency until the song came to a rousing end. Breathing heavily, her eyes still locked on Manuel’s, Isabel applauded the band along with the rest of the crowd.

  The musicians drifted into a slow tune, and he held out his arms in invitation. “Like to try something more tame?”

  Her stomach flip-flopped. “Looks rather dangerous to me.”

  He answered with a slow smile and a challenge in his eyes.

  Eager to be close to him, she let him take her hand in his. His other arm slid around her waist, coming to rest on the small of her back. Isabel placed her free hand on his shoulder and closed her eyes. His nearness overwhelmed her. The firm muscle beneath his shirt, the spicy scent of his aftershave, and his breath stirring her hair left her senses reeling.

  He breathed a contented sigh. “This is nice.”

  “Mmmhmm.”

  “You misled me about your dancing skills. You’re good.”

  She smiled to cover her shyness. “You aren’t too bad yourself. Where did you learn?”

  “I told you I have three sisters. Who do you think had to help them practice?”

  “You must have done a lot of practicing, Fred Astaire.”

  “Who is Fred?”

  She laughed. “An American dancer who impressed the ladies with his footwork.”

  He smiled.

  They lapsed into silence. As they danced, Manuel hummed the song. His deep, soothing baritone caused Isabel to tremble.

  “Are you cold?”

  She dared to look up into his face. “No.”

  As he stared down at her, understanding flickered over his face and lit a fire in his eyes. Her heart pounded out a staccato rhythm. His gaze dropped to her lips then shifted to a point behind her. “Maybe we should take a walk.”

  “Good idea.”

  She followed him from the dance area, still grappling with the feelings he’d stirred. His honorable behavior both delighted and frustrated her. She couldn’t remember ever wanting to be kissed more than she had just moments ago. Yet with the specter of danger lurking over her, she wasn’t sure she should risk a relationship with anyone. On the other hand, if she couldn’t trust a man who showed so much respect and restraint, whom could she trust?

  They strolled along the main thoroughfare, fingers entwined. Street performers entertained the festival-goers with circus tricks and magic acts. Manuel stopped at a stand and purchased her the promised rosquitas. One bite of the sweet doughy bread transported Isabel to taste bud heaven. A few blocks from the center of town, they found themselves standing in front of a beautiful old church. Thick wooden doors nestled beneath a Spanish arch, and a bell tower stood high overhead.

  “Let’s go inside.” Isabel nodded toward the church.

  “Okay.” Manuel pulled at the iron handle, and the door swung easily open.

  A reverent quiet dominated the interior of the church, unaffected by the revelry on the streets.

  Holding hands, Isabel and Manuel passed through a spacious vestibule and into the nave. Cherry wood pews lined either side of a wide center aisle. Their shoes clicked against the marble floors, sending echoes around the ornate room. The front wall of the church captured Isabel’s attention with its elaborate decoration. A reredos of a golden cathedral stretched across the wall behind the high altar. Hovering above it, a mural of Christ with arms outstretched beckoned to them. Isabel settled on a pew halfway up the aisle. The deep and abiding presence pe
rmeating the atmosphere seeped into her soul, and she felt at peace.

  The bench creaked as Manuel sat down beside her. He breathed a deep sigh. “It’s funny how a place like this can feel like home. I’ve traveled all around the world and sat in many churches, some like this one, some very different. But in every place, I felt as if I belonged.”

  Isabel sat and pondered his statement for a moment, revelation unfolding inside her, answering long-asked questions and filling up places that had felt empty for ages. “I feel it,” she whispered in awe. “Belonging and acceptance.” She turned toward him, tears brimming in her eyes. “All my life I’ve searched for a sense of belonging. I wanted people to accept me, but I never felt like I fit in anywhere. It’s God, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “You were trying to belong to a place or a person, but it’s His presence that satisfies.”

  “I never looked to Him to fulfill that need until the last few weeks.” She smiled at Manuel. “You helped me with that.”

  “Me? What did I do?”

  “You impressed me with your inner strength and stability. You set an example by taking time each morning to read your Bible and pray on that rock. I saw you there more than once and realized maybe something was missing in my life. Since then, I’ve been spending time with God each day, and it’s made all the difference. I feel complete and content for the first time in my life.”

  He smiled. “You always belonged. You just didn’t realize it.”

  She glanced up at his face and saw the look of tender understanding in his eyes. Leaning closer, she rested her head against his shoulder. “Even if we don’t find the pearls on this trip, I’ve made an invaluable discovery. Thank you, Manuel.”

  His arm dropped around her shoulders and held her tight. “You’re more than welcome, honey.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Manuel stopped in front of her door and leaned against the wall. “We’ll make our final preparations and replenish supplies tomorrow morning. In the afternoon, we’ll fly out to a substation in the rainforest. Our guides will meet us there and help load our bongos.”

  “Bongos?”

  “Shallow wood canoes.”